recipE

If I could write the recipe of my healing, it would include a heavy dose of nature and all things beautiful and inspiring, absorbing into the earth’s scenery and surrounding myself with creations that evoke awe and belief in God and a higher order; finding that there are reasons, still, to survive. Faith. It would require equal parts sturdy footing on the grounds and reality of my life, and a heart brimming with hope as light as the air in the clouds. My thoughts and memories of him must braise until the essence of each is drawn out and their form is changed to reverence. Breathe. Admitting fears and deeply rooted anxieties, the recipe would call for a reinvention of my past self, for the past has been made, suddenly, obsolete. Patience. This recipe would require an unspoken honor of his life in the way I move forward in mine. It is right to visit the stream of remembrance, my cup to be dipped, and sit for a while. Release.